


Whiskey and a Private Show

by supreme_genius



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Sexual Content, Wild West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supreme_genius/pseuds/supreme_genius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wild West A/U fic.<br/>Nick is the sheriff and Monroe's the local cello-playing handyman.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey and a Private Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brbsoulnomming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brbsoulnomming/gifts).



> I don't own Grimm.  
> Blame tumblr for this idea.

                I rode down the path deep into the woods that sat on the edge of town. I saw the little shack I was searching for and hopped off my horse. I looped Maggie’s reins around a slender tree next to the deputy’s horse, Sugar. I approached the house cautiously; word was there were a few skalengecks inside brewing moonshine. When I got to the door I poked my head in; deputy already had them cuffed and ready to go. I holstered my weapon and walked inside.

                “Deputy Griffin.” I nodded.

                “Sheriff Burkhardt.”

                “What do we have here?”

                “Couple guys brewin’ some moonshine.”

                I shook my head at the two men. “Thought you two would know better – that’s three strikes. Let’s take ‘em in, Deputy.”

                We rode back into town to the sheriff’s station and locked away our two outlaws. We decided to let them sit there while we figured out what we’d do with them. Hank and I walked down to the saloon to grab a couple ales. There was a cute little blonde – who Hank eyed-up every time we came in – working the counter.

                “Hey there, Deputy Griffin.” She smiled at him.

                “I told you Miss Adalind, you can call me Hank.”

                She blushed and fetched us both an ale. There was something about her that hit a nerve, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I drank my ale and focused on the music coming from the other side of the saloon. There was a man playing the cello – he was there most nights. I don’t know much about music, but I reckon he’s pretty good. He was also a handyman around town. Name was…Monroe. He’d come in a time or two to fix the cell doors. Someone sat down next to me – it was the town vet.

                “Hey there, Sheriff Burkhardt.”

                “Hello, Miss Juliette. You mind comin’ by tomorrow afternoon and takin’ a look at Maggie’s back hoof? Think she stepped on something today.”

                “Not a problem.” She smiled.

                Word was she fancied me a bit. She was nice enough and beautiful, too, but she just didn’t do it for me. My attention went back to the cello player. He looked up and smiled at me. I felt my cheeks heat up. I cleared my throat and excused myself – said I was calling it an early night.

                I strolled down to my house and welcomed the silence. It was a small place – no need for anything bigger. I kicked off my boots and hung my hat on a hook. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and let them rest in a heap on the floor of the bedroom. I pulled on some cotton pants and an undershirt. I poured myself a glass of whiskey and settled in for the night. I was half asleep when there was a knock on the door.

                “Good evening, Sheriff. Hope you don’t mind me stoppin’ by.”

                It was the cello player from the saloon.

                “Um, no, not at all…Mr. Monroe, was it?”

                “Just Monroe, sir.”

                “Sir was my father, please call me Nick.” I extended a hand to him; he gave it a firm shake. “Drink?”

                “Thank you.”

                I handed him a glass of whiskey and poured myself another. I invited him to sit down. We were a bit close on the small sofa. I didn’t mind, though. I could smell him – musk, wood, smoke, and just a hint of cinnamon. I finally got a closer look at him, too. He had this ruggedly handsome thing going on. Bright chocolate-colored eyes looked back at me. I wondered what his beard would feel like against my skin. _Stop – the sheriff can be fancying the handyman_.

                “If you, uh, don’t mind me asking, Monroe, why’d you come over here? Don’t you have a wife to get home to?”

                “No, sir…uh, Nick. I just…wanted to know how those cell doors are holdin’ up.”

                “They’re holdin’ up just fine. Think our roof might need some fixin,’ though.”

                He nodded. “I can come by day after tomorrow.”

                “Great. Are you playin’ tomorrow night?”

                “Sure am.”

                “Can I ask you something?”

                “Course.”

                “Saloon pay you well?”

                “Enough to keep some food on the table.”

                “Good.”

                “Night, sheriff.”

                I watched him walk out the door. That was weird…but not unwelcome. I made a note to talk to the saloon owner – Mr. Renard – about giving Monroe a little raise. He was much too good to be getting paid _enough_.

I crawled into my big empty bed and laid there thinking about how nice it’d be to share the space with someone…perhaps a tall, flannel-clad, cello-playing handyman. Yeah, that’d be real nice. Someone to keep warm with on those cold December nights that were coming up. Someone to come home to. Monroe crept his way into my dreams all night long.

XXX

                I got to the saloon early – wanted to make sure I got a nice seat to watch Monroe play from. He was chatting some guy; I could just make out what they were saying.

                “Why’s he wear so much red?”

                “I don’t know, Hap. Maybe he likes it.”

                “Well, I heard his clothes are stained with the blood of the outlaws he’s killed.”

                I had to stifle a laugh. Oh lordy, that friend of his wasn’t too bright. Good guy though – never had him in the station. I turned my head just enough to see them. A petite brunette walked up to them.

                “Hey there, Butch, Sundance.” She nodded to them.

                Monroe frowned, but the other man – Hap – smiled.

                “Hello, Miss Rosalee.”

                She smiled at Hap and walked over near where I was sitting. I turned my attention to my ale.

                “Sheriff Burkhardt,” she greeted me.

                “Ma’am.”

                “Rosalee Calvert. In town visiting some old friends.” She nodded to where the two men sat.

                “Nice to meet ya.” I tipped my hat.

                “I saw you eyeing-up Monroe.”

                “What?” I could feel that damned blush heading to my cheeks again.

                “Don’t worry: I won’t tell anyone. You should say something to him, though.” Her voice was soft, quiet.

                “Sheriff can’t be chasing the handyman around.”

                “It’s not a chase if he wants to be caught.” She flashed a smug smile. “Night, Sheriff.”

                I watched her leave the saloon. When I looked back to Monroe, our eyes met and he quickly turned away. I sighed. That woman was friends with him, so she had to be right. But what if she isn’t? Maybe I’ll say something after he they’re through playing for the evening.

XXX

                He was walking down the road when I caught up to him. He was kicking a stone along the way, looking less than thrilled.

                “Hey, Monroe, wait up!”

                He stopped and turned around. I saw why he seemed down – there was a bruise starting to darken around his eye.

                “What happened to you?”

                “Don’t worry about it, Sheriff.”

                I stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. He pulled away, turned, and started walking. I frowned and followed him.

                “Monroe, seriously. What happened?”

                “There was a fight – a really quick one – behind the saloon.” He kept walking as he talked. “Guy came up, hit me, and that was that.”

                “Why’d he do it?”

                He just shrugged.

                I stepped in front of him and he stopped. “I know what you are.”

                He furrowed his brow. “Um…”

                “You’re a blutbad.”

                He looked at me, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

                “I’m a Grimm.”

                “A sheriff and a Grimm? That legal?”

                I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna kill ya. I like you.”

                “Oh.”

                “You like to come over for a drink?”

                “Uh, sure.”

XXX

                “You want some ice or somethin’ for that eye?”

                “Nah, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

                “You seem real nice, can’t imagine why anyone would wanna hit you.” I poured whiskey into two glasses and handed one to him.

                He shrugged. “Just some fuchsbau that don’t like what I am.”

                “There some fuchsbau-blutbad rivaly I don’t know about? Kinda new to the Grimm thing.”

                “Not exactly.”

                I raised a questioning eye brow but he didn’t go on; I didn’t push it any further. “You play cards?”

                “From time to time.”

                “Wanna play a game of poker?”

                “Stakes?”

                “If I win…I get a private show. If you win…what do you want?”

                “Um…drinks are on you tomorrow night.”

                “Deal.”

XXX

                “Aces beat Jacks.”

                “You win. Let me get my cello.”

                He stood up and stepped towards the door where his cello case sat. I got up and grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

                “That’s not the, uh, kind of private show I wanted.”

                I stood up on my toes – he was a good five or so inches taller – and pressed my lips to his. I pulled away and looked up at him, hoping I didn’t make a mistake.

                “That’s why he hit me.”

                I thought for a second. _Oh_.

                “Well that’s the first and last time. The sheriff won’t have that petty hoopla in his town.”

                He smiled and then leaned to capture my lips. I fisted my hands in flannel shirt and pulled him closer. Our bodies were pressed together; my arms wrapped around his neck, his worked their way around my waist. I took a step back, pulling him towards the bedroom; he got the idea. I bent a little and picked me up; I wrapped my legs around his waist. We pulled away just long enough to shed our clothes and then we were back on each other. He pushed me back on to the bed. I could see the hunger in his eyes – they flashed red. We wrestled for control; I eventually gave in and let him pin me. He laid between my legs, our hips pressed firmly against each other. His fingers were wrapped around my wrists which laid on either side of my head.

                His lips moved over my jaw and down my neck. He nipped at my collar bones and I couldn’t quite stifle my moans. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. He loosened his grip on my wrists and I moved my hands to his chest, caressing bare skin.

                “So you’re a handyman and a cello player…what else can those hands do?”

                “I’ll show you.”

                He moved his hand down my body and wrapped his fingers around my very hard dick. The touch of his hand made me tremble. He sped up the pace of his strokes and my body writhed under his. He nipped at the sensitive spot right below my jaw and it drove me wild. There was enough coherent thought left in my mind to reach my hand down and return the favor. He moaned, though it was more of a growl. His mouth found mine and our tongues began to dance.

                I moaned his name as I came, my hips bucking up towards him. I kept my hand going as fast as I could, though the strokes became sporadic. He sank his teeth into my shoulder as he came. Oh god, it felt so good. He rolled off of me and I used the corner of the bed sheet to clean off my hand and stomach. I tucked myself to his side and threw an arm over his chest.

                We just laid in bed for a while, stealing kisses. I ran my fingers over his chest, drawing small circles and random patterns. It was nice, lying in bed with someone – I hadn’t realized how lonely I’d gotten. Apparently being with the sheriff wasn’t very appealing.

                “Guess I should’ve asked for a private show sooner.”


End file.
